A Drink Too Far
by Clover64
Summary: Alistair can't hold his booze. And neither can Bann Teagan, apparently. How do men settle their differences? Why, by a drinking contest, of course. Alistair/Fem!Cousland, implied possible Fem!Cousland/Teagan.


**A/N:** This is my submission for the Week Two Official Swooping Challenge for the prompt, _Alistair can't hold his booze_, over at Swooping_is_Bad on LJ. Not meant to be serious, just something that has been flitting about in my head. xD This is also my first time writing a DA fanfic, so I really hope you all enjoy!

- - -

This was getting ridiculous now.

In fact, it'd surpassed ridiculous several snide comments ago and had entered the realm of the utterly absurd with the introduction of The Challenge. The one that Alistair had been unable to decline, whether because of his pride or something else. A part of the Grey Warden could not believe that he was in the situation that he found himself in right now – and with Eamon's brother, _of all people_. The other part of the ex-Templar was not at all surprised by the way things were now spiraling out of his control. If this suicide quest of theirs had taught him anything thus far, it was that things could go from bad to worse and probably would.

And he blamed Bann Teagan for it. Well, at least for this instance of misfortune and bad choices. He guessed the Blight itself wasn't really his fault . . . but that was all beside the point he was trying to make. That point being . . . Alistair lost his train of thought for a few bewildering seconds.

Oh, wait, there it was.

From the moment that they'd entered the Redcliffe chantry, Teagan had been all charm and chivalry. Combined with those dark, handsome looks of his, it was no wonder Ursula had been taken in by it all. Any woman would have been. But Ursula was not just 'any woman'. Not to Alistair, anyway. It was beginning to seem – at least to him – as though she was more than just 'some lady' to Teagan, too.

Maybe no one had told him, Alistair thought grudgingly, but the position of knight in shining armour was taken already.

By _him_, thank you very much.

Or maybe that was the booze talking? He really couldn't tell anymore. It was kind of incredible how a drink or two . . . or five . . . could change a person's outlook on life. Had things been much clearer and less problematic before that last ale, he wondered, or was that a side effect of the alcohol as well? What did that make, anyway? Six? Or was it seven? He noted to himself that he should really keep count, and then promptly forgot what he should be keeping count of.

_"Are we to settle this like gentleman, then?"_

_Alistair narrowed his eyes. "You mean . . .?"_

_"Naturally."_

And then Alistair had found himself in the tavern, seated across from Teagan with nothing to separate them but a collection of frothing mugs and enmity. The competition rules had been simple: first one to pass out loses. Alistair knew he didn't hold his liquour well; he was as much a lightweight as they came. But what he didn't know was whether the Bann could hold his own or not, and that gave him a hope that he would probably have been better off without. Even now, with liquid up to his eyeballs, he remembered thinking that maybe – just _maybe_ – the Maker would allow things to go right for the former Chantry child. Just this one time, when the stakes were oh so high.

Those stakes being as simple as the rules: winner gets Ursula. Okay, maybe that wasn't _exactly_ what they'd agreed upon, but that was the gist as Alistair's ale-riddled mind interpreted it. Right now, he could recall only bits and pieces of the argument that they'd had before agreeing upon a drinking contest to settle the dispute. According to his memory, it'd gone something like this: Ursula was her own woman, blah blah blah, if Teagan wanted to pay her attention he could, blah, Alistair didn't own her. And no, a duel was out of the question. Not that it had even been suggested at the time. They weren't uncivilised, after all.

Yet, as the room began to spin, he wondered if a duel wouldn't have been his better option.

"Slowing down, yet, Teagan?" Alistair taunted.

The man responded with a bark of hearty laughter. "Hardly!"

They were gathering an audience now with a few occupants having stopped their own drinking to watch their beloved Bann have it out with one of their heroic Wardens. Neither man seemed to notice, however, which was probably for the best; as it was, Alistair figured that he was going to regret this later.

If he lost, that is. Something he had no intention of having happen.

"You know," Teagan said, downing the dregs of his latest cup. "It's to your credit that you're willing to humiliate yourself for her."

"Yeah, you too." What had he said?

"But what sane man wouldn't?"

"I'll drink to that."

They both took another long swig of their respective drinks.

"She is a woman of unmistakable beauty as well as strength," the Bann went on, the amount of alcohol that he'd consumed apparently enough for him to wax poetic.

Alistair nodded. "And she's pretty, too."

Another pair of mugs emptied, and sanity seemed that much farther away.

"We wouldn't have been able to procure the ashes for Eamon without her," Alistair continued, only slurring his words a little. "'s a good thing, too. I like Eamon. He's a good man, that Eamon. Eaaaaamon." His name suddenly sounded funny, and he laughed at it. It was a funny name, wasn't it?

Teagan wiped some beads of moisture from the fine facial hair around his mouth. "I owe you both a debt of gratitude for that."

"You could let me win."

"I could," he agreed, and then took another drink. "But I won't."

"Rats." Alistair took another drink, too, despite the fact that he didn't think he could stomach much more.

"It's a shame it came to this," he said with sudden sobriety – or, at least, the appearance of it. "I was always fond of you, Alistair."

"Yeah?"

"As far as bastards go, you were one of the best."

"Uh, thanks. I think."

The Bann stood up then, a bit too fast as betrayed by the way he swayed dangerously for a few moments, and then spoke in a commanding tone. "I propose a toast!" he said, his voice thick with inebriation.

"I like toasts," Alistair told the stranger sitting next to him who merely nodded, humouring the drunk.

"To the valiant Grey Wardens," Teagan said in his loud, booming voice. "Whose valiance saved the day thrice over. Let not their valiant acts ever be forgotten." Any lack of eloquence on Teagan's part was lost on Alistair.

The Warden lifted his mug, its contents sploshing around with as much uncertainty as Alistair's stomach but he maintained a smile. Those that had turned their gazes to the two men imitated the gesture and raised their glasses to the toast as well. This, as far as they appeared to understand, was no more than a celebration for what had been accomplished and what was yet to be achieved.

A cheer went up from the group of patrons, and the contest went on.

- - -

"What? What is it?" Ursula continued to ask even as she was half-dragged, half-ushered towards the tavern entrance. Wynne was only shaking her head, but Oghren was practically _skipping_ into the establishment. "Did either of you find Alistair . . .?"

The smell of vomit and other unsavoury bodily fluids hit Ursula like a wall as she passed over the threshold into the raucous tavern. Noise was pervasive, seeming everywhere all at once. She could barely think but smiled at the liveliness of it all and pressed inwards through the thick crowd of those that had come to partake in the alcoholic offerings of the place. Ursula wasn't one to drink a lot or often, but she kept finding herself in such shady establishments like this one as of late. The way she figured it, there was no harm in her companions taking a break on the journey; if they wanted to drown their sorrows within a mug of ale, she wasn't about to deprive them of one of their few comforts.

In a wave of inebriated sound, a chorus of voices rose up over the cacophony. The voices of the crowd were led by two familiar ones coming from a pair of gentlemen who had climbed atop a table and proceeded to start a rowdy round of song. Arms around one another's shoulders and pints in hand, they swayed to the tune that they themselves were producing. A rather offbeat, atrocious tune at that. The Grey Warden had to clap a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing at the silly sight.

"Ho, fair lady!" Teagan greeted, even as Alistair continued to sing without knowing the words.

"Bann Teagan?" Ursula blinked, her gaze traveling from the once distinguished man to the other drunk beside him. "Alistair?"

"Ursula! Hey!" Alistair exclaimed, waving his pint at her and throwing off the balance of both himself and the Bann. They both came crashing down, much to the humour of those around them. It wasn't funny to Ursula, however, whose concern for the men's wellbeing had her rushing to their sides instantly.

She reached Alistair first, while Wynne attended to Teagan. "Alistair, are you all right?" He couldn't seem to focus his eyes on her, but managed to give her a sloppy smile all the same.

"Never . . . better," he drawled.

"Wynne, how's Teagan?" Ursula said, remaining by the side of her wasted friend.

"Out cold, I'm afraid," Wynne said, a disapproving note entering her voice. "Though not because of the fall, I'd wager."

Alistair let out a whoop of victory, though Ursula did not understand why.

"Alistair, what's going on here?"

His grin stretched from ear to ear. "I won," he said.

"You won?"

"Yep." He popped the P of his word and continued smiling as his head lolled a little to the side.

"Right, well . . ." Ursula began to help him up only to realise that he was more than just a little unsteady on his feet. She had to support most of his weight just to prevent him from falling over. Again. "Congratulations. I think. Now let's get you out of here before you hurt yourself . . ."

"Aren't you gonna ask me what I won?"

Ursula motioned to Wynne who nodded in understanding as she tried to get a few of the Bann's men to help carry him back to the castle. The Warden's gaze returned to her fellow as she helped him outside. "What did you win?"

"You."

The woman had to stifle laughter at this. "Oh, is that so?"

"Yep!" He popped the P of the word, again, which seemed to be his new favourite thing to do. "I guess that means we should get married now."

This time, she did laugh. "I guess so. When should we have the wedding?"

"Maybe when the world stops spinning?"

Ursula stopped, letting Alistair sit down for a moment. Worry drove out the amused light that had previously been in her eyes as she looked him over, touching the side of his face with tenderness. "Just how much did you drink, Alistair?"

"I don't know. Five . . . seventy mugs, maybe . . . I lost count."

"So somewhere between five and seventy, wonderful." She shook her head.

Alistair got real quiet then, as he looked at her. There was a strange intensity to his gaze, as if he was trying to puzzle out an answer to some silent question brewing in his muddled mind. Then, he leaned in close to her, close enough for her to smell the ale on his breath, which truly wasn't attractive. But his intimate proximity was far more dizzying and intoxicating to her than any alcohol would have been. She wasn't sure what he was doing, and so didn't lean away as good judgement might have suggested.

"I really like you, Ursula," he said. "You know that?"

"I really like you, too, Alistair."

"Like, a lot. A _lot_ lot." He spread his arms wide to illustrate. "Like, this much."

She chuckled, and that sparkle of life returned to her blue-grey eyes. "I feel the same way. But I don't think right now is a good time to be talking about this . . . You're drunk."

"_Really_ drunk," he agreed.

A pause as she smiled softly and he moved in a little closer.

"I think . . ." he continued, seeming to come to the conclusion of whatever it was that he had been getting at as his voice turned low and serious.

She was acutely aware of how close his face was to hers now, lips just breadths apart. "Yes?"

"I think . . ." he said, "I'm going to go to sleep now."

And then he passed out, his head pitching forward right into her armoured bosom. She blinked in temporary shock before removing his head from its awkward resting place and getting to her feet. It was a challenge to get the incapacitated man back to Redcliffe castle, but the Warden managed it after much difficulty and little to no help from the Arl's guards who could only laugh as they passed by.

While it was true that she didn't know exactly what had gone down that night before her arrival, one thing was certain.

Alistair obviously couldn't hold his booze.

- - -

Meanwhile, back in the tavern with the excitement of the night's activities having wound down, Oghren found himself with a purse full of coin and some time all to himself. He grinned.

The dwarf then sat down and motioned the tavernkeeper over.

"I'll have whatever they did."


End file.
